


Please Turn on Your Magic Beam

by mnwood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Castiel, Blow Jobs, Chubby Castiel, Come Swallowing, Creature Castiel, Dream Sex, Fluff, Insomniac Dean, M/M, Minor Castiel/Meg Masters, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnwood/pseuds/mnwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the AU prompt: “I just got turned into an incubus or a succubus and I’m like the least smooth and most self-conscious person on the planet so I’m literally starving because I don’t know how to seduce people,” in which Cas is a starving asexual succubus who travels through people's dreams and Dean is an insomniac, and both of them are way too stressed out about school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Turn on Your Magic Beam

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's the post where this came from.](http://mnwood.tumblr.com/post/123869087490/mythological-creature-aus)  
>     
> Title's from the song Mr. Sandman.
> 
> Cas is very much "woe is me, I'm going to die, everything is terrible" at the beginning because he's starving, but he's meant to be more dramatic than tragic so don't feel *too* bad for him.
> 
> I made up a lot of the lore in this, so if you have questions feel free to ask.
> 
> Also, the chubby Cas part isn't until the very end, but there's food kink throughout if you squint.

_“Hey, um, my name is Cas. I, uh, I’m here because I…well, I’m really very hungry. And, you see, the way that I get food is that I, uh…You don’t even know that I’m here, do you? Of course you don’t. You’re asleep. I’m just a character in your dream. Your dream where you’re…playing hide-and-seek with a pigeon and a small child in the White House. Very imaginative, by the way. Well, I’m going to just…”_

It takes Cas several more minutes before he figures out how exactly to escape the dream world and return to reality. He claws at the walls and taps on different surfaces and jumps up and down and finally he’s lying in his own bed staring up at the ceiling and wishing he could remember what it was he just did to get out of that dream so that he can do it again next time instead of going through the whole routine again.

Fact of the matter is, he’s actually going to starve to death.

“Hey…Cas?”

He turns out of the door of the pantry, an entire oatmeal crème pie stuffed in his mouth. “Hmm?”

His roommate shifts from one foot to the other and answers, “Um, are you OK? You’ve been acting weird.”

Cas shoves a handful of chips in his mouth and mumbles, “I’m fine.” 

Chuck’s eyes roam up and down Cas’ body before he says, “You sure you don’t have, like, a parasite or something? I mean—I just—you’re eating, like, _way_ more than you usually do, and yet…” Chuck gestures to Cas’ body.

So it’s obvious that he’s wasting away. He thought he could hide it with oversized button-downs and sweatshirts, but clearly it’s gotten too bad at this point. And no matter how much he stuffs his face, he just can’t get _full._  

He’s going to starve to death.

 

* * *

 

“Whoa, looks like somebody hasn’t slept in a few years,” Charlie greets as she throws her backpack down and takes a seat at the desk next to Dean’s. 

Dean rubs his eyes and scoots back so he can see her past the partition between them. “Did you bring coffee?” 

She reaches down and pulls two cardboard cups out of the side pockets of her backpack. “Seriously, when was the last time you slept?” she asks as she hands him the larger cup. 

“It’s not _that_ bad. As soon as I finish this paper, it’s right back to my normal sleeping schedule, and—”

“Dean.” 

Dean looks at her. She looks pissed.

“I’ve known you for three years. You haven’t had a normal sleeping schedule since Labor Day weekend freshman year.”

“That’s not true! I-I got like four hours of sleep every night sophomore year. Up until two weeks ago I was sleeping, like, two or three hours every day.”

“Dean. Please see a doctor.”

He turns back to his desk and keeps typing on his laptop. “Right. After I finish this paper.”

 

* * *

 

“Castiel, I very rarely have this conversation with any of my students, but I am extremely concerned for your health. Have you considered seeing a doctor? Or do you have anyone you can talk to about what exactly it is that’s going on?”

Cas instinctively hunches his shoulders over and tries to hide himself. He’s all sharp lines and angles, his skin pale and stretched tight over bones with no fat or muscle on them. It’s been a month. “I, uh, I’m working on it. Thank you for your concern, Jody.”

His professor stares at him with pity in her eyes, making him feel more pathetic than comforted. “Whatever it is you’re going through, just try to take care of yourself, all right? I can waive your final exam.”

His eyes shoot up to her, and he tightens his grip on the straps of his backpack. “No, Professor, you can’t—” 

“Listen, Novak. You could get a zero on the final and still make an A in my class. No arguments. But if you don’t take care of yourself, I’m not reserving a spot for you in my women’s studies class next semester, deal?”

He nods shyly and ignores the thought that he might not even need a seat in her class next semester. “Deal. Thank you, Jody.”

If only he was as close to the rest of his professors.

He still has three exams and two papers to complete before the semester’s over.

He can barely stand longer than five minutes without needing to take a break to catch his breath.

 

* * *

 

 _Just one more page,_ Dean thinks as he finishes his third Red Bull and blindly tosses it in the trash. He doesn’t know what time it is, but the sun is starting to come up outside the library window. He is vaguely aware of the sound of a chair scratching on the floor at the desk across from him. There’s a longsuffering sigh, and he looks down to see crossed ankles.

Dean doesn’t mind people sitting near him—the partitions make it pretty damn easy to ignore everyone anyway—but this guy is making all kinds of noise that’s incredibly distracting.

_Humbert Humbert might have been in love with Lolita, but that does not mean that Nabokov intended to write a love story. The implication that—_

_The implication that—_

_The implication that—_

“Excuse me?” Dean states loudly enough for the guy on the other side to hear.

“Hmm?”

“Are you OK? You keep making weird noises, dude. I’m trying to finish a paper.” He would normally just get up and go somewhere else instead of being so forward, but he’s too wired to care about politeness.

“Oh, I’m-I’m sorry. I’m a little under the weather, but I’ll try to be quieter.” 

Goddamn it. The guy’s got a robotically deep voice and sounds like he’s spent most of his life getting the shit beaten out of him. Nice move, Winchester.

“It’s…all right. Sorry, I didn’t know you were sick.”

The guy doesn’t answer, but Dean can hear him shift in his seat.

_The implication that Nabokov coded this story to be romantic seems ludicrous when viewing the—_

The guy starts to hum.

Very softly, almost imperceptible. Just a simple tune that repeats itself after a few bars.

Dean doesn’t even realize that he’s not typing anymore.

The words on his screen blur together, and all of his focus homes in on the voice on the other side of the partition.

He sleeps.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, fuck,” Cas states in defeat once he realizes what he’s done.

He came to the library to try to study without passing out, and now here he is inside some rude student’s dream and he doesn’t even know what the guy looks like. 

And he can’t really get out either, because frankly he’s too damn hungry and exhausted to go through the effort of dream exiting.

His life is quite literally over.

At least this dream is a nice, peaceful place to die. The sky is a brilliant blue, and the trees make a gentle rustling noise in the wind. Castiel is sitting on the edge of a lake, his feet in the water and his hands supporting him in the sand behind him. There are huge rocks further back, where the dream cuts off and the world ends. Cas thinks maybe this is one of the Great Lakes in Michigan.

Yeah, not a bad place to die at all.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, but before he can lie down and accept his fate, there’s a voice to his left.

“Who are you?”

Cas jumps and looks over to find a tall guy about his age looming over him. “Um. Nobody.”

“Oh my god. You’re the dude from the library.” 

“What?”

“I was just talking to you in the library. Are you—why are you in my dream, dude? Oh god, _why am I asleep?”_ The guy grabs his hair with both hands and looks out at the lake in a panic.

Cas gingerly pulls himself to his feet and says, “Hey, it’s all right. I’m asleep, too. We’re both going to fail our classes.”

The guy starts, honest to god, hyperventilating. Cas stands awkwardly next to him for a moment before tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder and whispering, “Shh, shh, it’s OK.”

It gets weird. The guy turns to look at Cas’ hand, and then he grabs it and inspects it like it’s broken. He drops it and takes in Cas’ full appearance, and then he says, “You’re sick.”

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

“Do you ever eat, dude?”

Cas laughs and answers, “Wish I could.”

“What?”

“Nothing. What’s your name?”

“Dean. Yours?”

“Cas. It’s nice to meet dream you, Dean.” His eyes widen as realization dawns on him. “In fact, it’s very nice to meet you. I’ve never met anyone in their dreams before.”

“Yeah, well, this is a first for me, too. I don’t know what my subconscious is doing to me, but I guess this is what happens when I don’t sleep for three years.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m going to go fish.”

Dean stomps off past Cas and up to a dock nearby. A tackle box and fishing rod appear in his hands without explanation, and then he’s up at the end of the pier sitting in a lawn chair and casting out his line. 

Maybe Dean has insomnia because his dreams are really boring.

Castiel has entered plenty of people’s dreams before, but this is the first time he’s actually been able to communicate with the dreamer. Usually there’s too much random shit going on, too many changes in settings and weird colors and people with blurry faces. Nothing ever makes any sense, so Cas spends most of his time trying not to get a headache.

It might be boring, but this is the most real and honest dream world Cas has ever had the pleasure of stepping into.

After a few minutes, he decides to join Dean on the dock. A lawn chair doesn’t materialize for him, so he sits down on the wood and hangs his feet over the edge. 

“I’m usually alone in my dreams,” Dean states without looking over.

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t know. Unless it’s a nightmare.”

“What are your nightmares like?”

“My brother’s always in trouble. I’m fighting off ghosts or werewolves or some shit, and Sam’s bleeding out or being mauled to death, and I-I can’t save him. I never save him.”

“And in real life?”

“Sam’s a snot-nosed 17-year-old who’s too smart for his own good. Already got himself a full ride to Stanford.” 

“You’re upset about this.”

Dean looks down at Cas skeptically. “The hell you talking about?”

“In your dreams, you can’t protect him. In real life, he doesn’t need your protection. You are, by nature, a protector, and yet the one person you want to protect…”

Dean swallows and looks back out at the lake.

“I’m sorry. I simply—”

“No, you’re right. It’s just, uh, nice to be needed. Makes me feel like I matter or something.”

“You don’t have to be needed to matter. I’m sure your brother loves you. And even if he doesn’t need you, he still wants you in his life.”

“What about you, Cas? Why do you matter?”

“Oh, I don’t. I was just about to die before you came to talk to me.”

“What?” 

“I can’t eat. It’s been about a month since I’ve eaten, and humans are only known to be able to survive 40 days without sustenance, so—”

Dean leaps to his feet, knocking over his lawn chair behind him. “Well, then, let’s go get you some food. What the fuck, man?” 

“It’s not—” Cas starts, but he’s cut off by a tug on his feeble arm. 

Dean drags him by his sleeve. Cas has to jog to keep up. He’s out of breath within minutes, but luckily this is a dream so in the middle of walking down the dock it changes to a restaurant with a giant buffet in the middle of it.

“This is not what I—” This time Castiel is cut off by a donut being shoved in his mouth.

Cas decides to just roll with it. It’s actually kind of nice to dream eat with Dean, and it isn’t until their fifth plates of food that he realizes he feels better. 

Marginally, of course. 

“Is it even possible to get full in a dream?” Dean asks as he slurps up spaghetti.

Cas just smiles stupidly down at his plate of food. 

“Dude, what?”

“I feel, um, good. I feel good. For the first time in a month, I feel like…”

“Like what?”

“Like I might live." 

Dean grins around a mouthful of food, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Cas has ever seen.

Cas feels himself blush a moment later as he recognizes that this is very much like a date. There is presumably no one else in Dean’s dream, and the restaurant is dark and cozy. Cas hasn’t been on a date in at least a year. There’s just no time with classes and work and dying.

He wonders what Dean thinks is going on here. He doesn’t ask.

“This is weird, dude,” Dean says after he comes back with his eighth plate.

“What?”

“Seriously, there’s never _anybody_ in my dreams. I’ve never seen you before, and your voice matches the guy's in the library. How are you so, uh, real? Where’d you come from?”

Cas shakes his head and looks down at his chocolate cake. “Do you dislike my company?”

“No! Of course not. This is probably the longest I’ve slept in months. You’re staying forever, man.”

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “How can you ensure that I stay, if I am a product of your subconscious?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” Dean crams half a sandwich in his mouth and continues, “So, what were you in the library for?”

“Are you kidding? We have exams in two weeks.”

“I don’t know anybody who studies that early.”

“What were _you_ doing?” 

“Writing a paper.”

“When’s the paper due?” 

“Uh, during exams.”

“I rest my case. We are both disgusting overachievers who will probably die at a young age.”

“Whatever, asshole. So—”

The room starts to spin. Everything in it smears like running paint. They are being swept up in a tornado. Cas grabs Dean’s wrists for dear life and tries to hang on.

He jerks awake, a page of his textbook ripping up with his cheek.

 

* * *

 

Dean barely remembers where he is when he wakes up. His computer screen has gone black, and it’s now fully light outside. He knows he should be panicking, but he’s too chilled out to care.

He had a weird dream, he knows that. He remembers humming and then he was nodding off and—

The guy at the other desk. He doesn’t remember _all_ the details of his dream, but he remembers that the dude’s name was Cas. So he stands up and rushes around to the opposite desks, but there’s no one there.

The chair is pushed back like whoever was there left in a hurry.

Dean scratches his head and decides to go home. Maybe he can get a few more hours of sleep before his afternoon class…

 

* * *

 

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to—whoa, dude, you OK?” 

Cas scrambles to get to his feet, but it’s a little too obvious that it’s taking more effort than a healthy person would require. “I am fine. Don’t worry.”

The girl sympathetically reaches toward him anyway as if she can hold him up herself. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Hey, wait. We have Crowley’s class together, don’t we?”

He studies the girl’s face. She’s got bright red hair that he vaguely remembers seeing throughout the semester. “Yes. Yes, I believe we do.”

“I’m Charlie.” She sticks her hand out.

Cas shakes it, despite the fact that it will reveal just how fragile the bones in his hands are. “Castiel. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hey, Cas, can I, uh, buy you lunch or coffee? Anything?”

“No. No, it’s OK. I’m fine. I’ll, um, see you around, Charlie. In class.”

“Yeah. Yeah, all right.”

He rushes off without looking back.

Sure, maybe a couple days ago when he woke up in the library feeling better than he had in a month, he hoped that he might be able to survive to see another semester. But now he feels even worse, even closer to death’s cold embrace. No point making new friends when you’re a walking corpse.

 _“Charlie!_ Charlie, slow down!” a boy shouts as he passes Castiel.

They briefly make eye contact before the boy directs his attention back to Charlie.

Sometimes people look different in their dreams than they do in real life. Sometimes they look so vastly different that they are unrecognizable.

With Dean, this is not the case. 

Maybe Cas should befriend Charlie after all.

 

* * *

 

“You again.”

“It appears I am currently a fixture in your subconscious.”

Dean plops down on the motel bed and flips the lamp on. “You stalking my dreams, dude?”

“Something like that. Why are we in a motel?” 

“Uh, it’s nothing. I mean, I don’t know. Cas, you still look like death warmed over.”

Cas crosses his arms over his stomach and hunches his shoulders. “Well, as long as we're asleep, I won’t die. So you’re stuck with me.”

Dean doesn’t say anything for a minute. He’s in a weird dream limbo where he can’t figure out why all of a sudden his brain has become imaginative and created this person that’s not saying anything Dean expects. If Cas is in Dean’s own mind, then shouldn’t it feel like he’s having a conversation with _himself?_

“You’re thinking. You’re not allowed to think in a dream,” Cas interrupts.

The walls change color, from a tan to a deep purple. “I was just thinking about why my mind made you up.”

“Perhaps it realizes you need someone to take care of,” Cas states without missing a beat.

OK, maybe this really _is_ Dean’s own mind talking to him. “All right, let’s say that’s true. Then how come I can’t take care of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at you, man! You’re like a skeleton. I can sit here and feed you for days, and it wouldn’t make any difference. So, tell me how I’m supposed to take care of you.” 

With dream-induced boldness, Castiel walks over to Dean and plants himself on his bed. They are sitting mere inches apart, both looking forward at the now sky blue wall in front of them. “I suppose your company is what I need.”

“My _company?_ Great. Well, I guess that means we should get to know each other.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re looking, you know, like—better,” Chuck says awkwardly when Cas walks into the kitchen in his pajamas.

Cas smiles and answers, “Yes, I’m feeling better. I think I’m, um, recovering.”

“That’s good. Great news. I’m, uh, happy for you, man.”

The great thing about Chuck is that he doesn’t ask too many questions. He doesn’t need to know what Cas is recovering from, and that’s good because there’s no way Cas can explain it. 

All he knows is there is some sort of bond between him and Dean, and it is making him feel healthier.

Still empty, yes, but not starving to death.

The only downside so far is that Dean does not get nearly enough sleep. Some nights Cas jumps from one person to the next (he’s getting better at jumping) without ever finding Dean. Other times it’s the middle of the day and he’s knocked out cold because apparently Dean is asleep somewhere, and Cas’ body is attuned to join his dreams no matter how inconvenient they are to his real life. (He adds “narcolepsy” to his slew of side effects.)

But all in all, it’s a better situation than slowly wasting away. Color is returning to his cheeks, his ribs aren't visible under his shirts, and a couple of days ago he was able to pinch a bit of his skin between his fingers.

Plus, getting to know Dean is really fucking fun.

A few nights ago they were at the beach but the ocean was all wrong and Dean explained that he’s never actually been to the beach but he’s always wanted to go. Cas spent the rest of the dream describing the ocean to Dean until the setting before them looked perfect. 

With just a week left before exams, Cas approaches Charlie right before their class that they share. 

“Um, I don’t know if you remember—”

“Cas! Have a seat. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me,” Charlie answers animatedly.

“No, it’s nothing like that. Although it does seem strange to try to make a friend when Christmas break is so soon.” Cas drops his backpack down before sliding into the seat next to Charlie and pulling the small desk up and unfolding it out in front of him.

“How dare you say such a thing. It’s never the wrong time for friendship. So, you ready for this exam?” 

“Yes, I should hope so. I’ve been studying all semester.”

“Whoa, dude, you study _all_ semester for finals?”

“How else do you expect to learn all of the material? By cramming it in one night?”

Cas maybe sounds too harsh, but Charlie just laughs and says, “You sound like one of my friends. Of course, this university is full of a bunch of perfectionists, and then there’s me.”

“Are you not doing well?”

She waves him off. “Nah, bro. Got a 4.0. I just don’t have to study.”

It should’ve sounded arrogant, but she's so sincere and blasé that Cas doesn’t even question it. Of course she would have a 4.0 without trying. Makes perfect sense.

Charlie whispers to Cas throughout Crowley’s class, and then when they're dismissed she keeps right on talking. Cas, enthralled with her story about a video game she leaked, does not even think about the fact that he's basically letting her take him wherever she's headed next.

No, he does’t realize it until they are in the dining hall standing right in front of Dean.

“Cas, this is my friend Dean. Dean, Cas.”

Dean shoots his hand out and says, “Nice to meet you, Cas.”

Cas takes it and ignores the way his heart pounds at the contact. “You, too.”

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

“I-I don’t think so.” Castiel prays that Dean doesn’t remember his voice from the library that one day. If he remembers his voice, he'll remember the dreams.

They have lunch, the three of them. Charlie and Dean don’t comment on the vast quantity of food Cas consumes, but Cas notices a few side-eye glances from Dean.

Or maybe Dean is just trying to figure out where he knows Cas from.

Either way, it would've been awkward had Cas not been silently panicking the entire time. He's too focused on not saying anything stupid (“so how’s Sam doing?” “did you get that American Lit paper done?”) to even judge what the atmosphere among them is like.

For a second, he thinks he might die of a heart attack instead of starvation.

That night, Dean sleeps.

In a rare turn of events, it's nighttime in his dream. The two of them sit on the hood of Dean’s ’67 Impala and talk about the stars.

They talk about the vastness of space and how small it makes them feel.

They talk about their dreams and all the things they hope to achieve after college, all the things too big for one person but far too small for the stars in the sky. The bigger they talk, the more stars appear.

Dean tells Cas that a lot of his dreams are in motels because that's mostly where he grew up. With no mom and an often absent father, Dean pretty much raised his brother himself until their Uncle Bobby took them in a few years back. Dean would like to do better. He would like to make sure no kid ever has to grow up like Sammy had to.

As they lie there dreaming inside of a dream, Dean reaches over and covers Cas’ hand with his own. Cas responds by lacing their fingers together.

He is going to live.

 

* * *

 

Dean falls out of his bed and slams his hand so hard against his alarm clock that his fingers throb.

He holds his hand with his other, but it doesn’t help the pain.

He reaches blindly for his phone, but when he finds it the screen is all fuzzy and blue. He doesn’t think anything of it.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean flattens a palm to his chest in alarm and replies, “Jesus, Cas, you scared the shit out of me. What the hell are you doing here?” 

“You’re asleep. This is a dream.”

“Oh, fuck me. Does that mean I’m sleeping through my alarm right now? Was I about to have one of those dreams where you go through your entire morning routine only to find it didn’t actually happen and you’re late for class?”

“No. It’s the middle of the night.” 

“How do you just _know_ that?” Dean gets to his feet and walks over to where Cas is leaned back against his dresser.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Dean.”

Dean is so thrown off by the comment that he just stands there with his mouth open staring at Cas.

Cas doesn’t look back at him, but after a few seconds a slight smile pulls at his lips.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Dean says through a laugh.

“Yes, but I’m your asshole.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

It’s a dream. Anything can happen in a dream. 

At least, that’s the justification Dean uses for angling his face down and pulling Cas’ mouth up to his own.

They’re frozen in time for a moment, neither daring to move and ruin it.

But then Cas makes a noise, a low moan in the back of his throat like he’s just taken a bite of something particularly delicious, and it’s all over after that.

Dean shoves him back against the dresser and squeezes his hand around his neck while he drops his jaw and moves his lips. It’s a dream, so he finds himself hard immediately. He isn’t shy, so he rubs his erection up Cas’ leg and is rewarded with a surprised gasp as Cas throws his head back and presses tighter to the drawers behind him.

Just as Dean is wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist and easing his tongue into his mouth, Cas pushes his hands into his chest and states, “Dean, wait.”

“What? What is it, Cas?” His hands continue to roam, his thumbs kneading into pliant skin and hoping for more.

“I’m-I’m a succubus.”

“What?”

 

* * *

 

There was a girl pushing him up against a bookshelf and furiously making out with him. Like she was trying to crawl inside his skin and make her home there. 

Cas panicked at first. He still had six lectures to study, and now was really not the time to be kissing random strangers.

But for some reason, he found himself relaxing and latching his hands onto her hips. He tilted his head to the side to get a better angle on her mouth, and when she whimpered he shoved her against the opposite bookshelf and cradled her head with one hand.

After a few minutes, she reached down and fumbled with his fly, but Cas brought his hand down to stop her. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. She raised an eyebrow as if in challenge. 

It was at this point that Cas realized he was dreaming.

He had never seen the girl before, he was sure of it. And come to think of it, he wasn’t sure how this all started to begin with. The only conclusion he could draw was that he had fallen asleep at his desk in the library. Which was unfortunate, because again, six lectures.

The girl tried to move her hand. Cas squeezed her fingers and lifted his chin.

“What, you gay or something?” she asked.

“Or something. I need to wake up.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed Cas a few inches away. “Listen, I have a quota to fill, so—” 

“A quota?”

“—If you would just let me fuck you, then I could be on my merry way." 

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Meg. I’m a demon.” She flashed her eyes black and grinned. “And you’re Cas, the first guy who’s told me ‘no’ this week.”

“What—I don’t—why are you—”

She moved into his personal space again and traced a finger along his chest. “Listen, sweetheart. I either take your blood or your semen, your choice.”

“Take my blood,” Cas said stupidly. She wasn’t exactly scary, but she was definitely confusing him.

She didn’t say anything before smiling again and cupping a hand over Cas’ eyes.

The next thing he knew, there were blunt teeth sinking into his skin. He tensed up as she began to suck.

He woke up in a cold sweat with a bruise on his collarbone.

 

* * *

 

“A succubus. It’s, like, a…demon of sorts, but I’m not a demon! I was _made_ into a succubus. Recently, actually. But if I-I have sex with you, then you’ll be my incubus.” 

Dean places his hands on his hips and blinks at Cas.

Cas turns toward the door. “Well, I’m just going to—”

Dean grabs him by the shoulders, and the room turns into a swirl of pinks and purples like giant cotton candy. Dean kisses him gently in juxtaposition to the roughness of his hands. Cas forgets to stop him when he reaches for his fly.

So it’s Dean who stops, removing his hand from Cas’ pants and staring down at the space between them. 

Cas drops his head to Dean’s shoulder and admits, “I’m asexual.”

“Oh. That explains the…”

Cas frantically reaches down his own pants and explains, “I can get hard. I mean, if we take our time. It might take a while. You’d probably wake up before anything happens.” He stops stroking himself. “I’m going to die.”

Dean grabs him by the shoulders again, except this time he rubs his hands reassuringly up and down like he’s trying to calm an upset child. “Dude, it’s OK. So-so you have to have sex to…feed? Like, that’s how you get sustenance?”

“Apparently.”

“And there’s no other option?”

“Well, there’s…”

“What? You can tell me.”

“I could drink your blood. But, um, that would make _you_ a succubus, too.”

Dean’s grip tightens and he whispers, “Is that what happened to you?” 

Cas nods and stares down at Dean’s bare feet.

After a sigh, Dean steps away from Cas and takes a seat in his desk chair. The room is normal again. “Well. You’re not going to die, Cas. I’m not letting that happen. So—” 

“I don’t want to drink your blood.”

“Because you don’t want me becoming a succubus.” Dean leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He smirks and asks, “You don’t want me having sex with anybody else, do you?”

Cas reluctantly shakes his head.

“OK, here’s what I recommend. I’m assuming you’re not totally repulsed by sex just based on the behavior I’ve seen from you so far. Am I on the right track?”

A nod.

“All right, good. So now we figure out how far you have to go to quit looking like a zombie. That sound good?”

Cas raises his head and can’t help the pitiful face he makes at Dean.

Dean walks back over to him and cups his face in his hand, his thumb rubbing over Cas’ cheek. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

With newfound confidence, Cas slides his hand down Dean’s chest and presses hard against his crotch.

Dean tenses and closes his eyes. He lets out a low hum and grunts, “Only do what you’re comfortable with, man.”

This is easy. Cas can do this. He pushes his way past the waistband of Dean’s boxers and wraps his fingers around his shaft. It’s…nice. Nicer than he expected. It doesn’t take him long to figure out the right pressure. He starts pumping immediately, making the loose skin around Dean’s cock move with his hand up past the head and back down until he’s almost pressing against his balls. It’s slow going at first, but Dean’s breathing gets erratic and he wraps a strong hand around the back of Cas’ neck.

“Faster,” he breathes.

While increasing his pace, Cas uses his other hand to pull Dean’s body closer to his. He’s very close to considering dropping to his knees and tasting Dean when—

He wakes up in his own bed, early sunlight pouring in through the window. He’s hard.

 

* * *

 

Dean’s never daydreamed in his life. 

Which is why he starts to worry a little when he finds himself drifting during class one Tuesday morning.

It’s all very vague, but for some reason he’s fantasizing about dark, messy hair and big, blue eyes. The rest is a bit blurry, but he grabs the too thin guy just the same. Kisses him until his chapped lips are swollen. Dean really wishes he could remember his name.

Or remember why he’s thinking about him in the first place.

It isn’t until the second time he has lunch with Charlie and her new friend Cas that he realizes it’s _him_ in his daydreams.

Charlie dominates the conversation, and Dean tries his best not to look at Cas every five seconds. Especially since each time he steals a glance, Cas catches his eye and they both turn away uncomfortably as if they’ve _both_ been caught staring.

It’s unsettling. Like Cas knows him.

“Guys? Uh, earth to Dean and Cas.”

They both jerk their heads toward Charlie. She’s got that look on her face that says she’s just figured something out and is unwilling to share it yet.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dean offers.

“You know what, never mind. It’s not important,” Charlie says flippantly. She picks up her lunch tray and continues, “I have a class to get to. I’ll see you nerds later.”

They wave awkwardly as she throws a peace sign over her shoulder and heads out of the dining hall.

Cas immediately begins packing up his stuff, too, and explaining, “Um, I suppose I should, uh, go to the library. I don’t want to—I wouldn’t want to waste your time, so—” 

“Wait!” Dean reaches for Cas’ forearm on impulse and ignores the way Cas stares down at the connection. “Um. We could study together? I mean, if you want. I don’t have another class for a couple more hours.”

“Oh—OK. I suppose. Yes. That would be. All right.” 

They’re silent as they walk the 20 yards to the library. Cas suggests they go to the third floor, and Dean mentions that’s his favorite spot because he likes the desks with the partitions.

For some reason, Cas awkwardly clears his throat and changes the subject after that. Dean decides that Cas is a weird dude.

They sit at adjacent desks. Dean regrets liking the partitions. He can’t see Cas, and he can’t focus on his work with the knowledge that those big, blue eyes are right next to him. But he also can’t make it even weirder between them and _say_ something about it.

So, instead, he makes small talk as they both stare at their laptops. He finds out that Cas is a sophomore, just one year below him, and he’s already changed his major twice. (“I think I’ll stick with biology now though,” Cas states as if he’s trying to convince himself as well as Dean.) He’s from the same hometown as Dean, which isn’t surprising because it’s a huge city in the same state as their university. He likes bees and alien conspiracy theories and cheeseburgers. 

“Oh, dude, you like burgers? I’ve got to take you to my favorite place sometime. It’s like a secret joint on the other side of town,” Dean blurts without thinking.

Cas stares down at his keyboard and tries to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“I mean, uh…” Dean says intelligently.

“No, that would be nice, Dean. I would like that very much.”

Somehow, in the midst of all the awkwardness, Dean walks away with a new contact in his phone and a burger date on Friday.

 

* * *

 

“I have a date with you on Friday.” Cas doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe it’s because dating the same person in two separate timelines is fucking exhausting.

“Hmm?” Dean asks distractedly as he continues working under the hood of his car parked outside of a rundown motel.

“A date. I have a date with you. In the real world.”

Dean just laughs and reaches so deep into the car that his shirt rides up, revealing checkered boxers and a strip of skin at his back. Cas swallows.

“You don’t remember?” Cas offers.

“Of course I remember. I just asked you out a few hours ago.” Dean stands and wipes his forehead on a dirty rag.

“But your waking self doesn’t remember me.”

“Pretty sure my waking self remembers you just fine.” Dean walks over to Cas with a grin and kisses him on the nose. “What am I supposed to say on our date? ‘Hey, man, I dream about you every time I sleep. Want to spend the night?’”

Cas shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “That would probably work.”

Dean turns away from Cas and laughs loudly this time. “Truth is, I can’t remember my dreams for longer than five minutes after I have them. I haven’t been able to place you yet.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten that impression from you.” 

They’re quiet for a minute. Cas is suddenly very aware of his breathing as Dean drifts closer to him.

“Can I kiss you?” Dean asks gently as he runs a finger along Cas’ forearm.

Cas nods, feeling more shy than usual.

He waits until Dean’s lips are on his before closing his eyes and placing a hand on Dean’s hip. Dean is so tender and sweet and every gross thing Cas would write about in a diary if he had a diary. He thinks perhaps the only way to stop the fluttering in his belly would be to push Dean back against the car and make him act _rough._

Instead, Cas kneads his fingers into the skin he was just staring at moments before. He slowly creeps a hand down the back of Dean’s jeans and under his checkered boxers so he can grab a handful of his ass.

Dean breaks the kiss in order to moan, and Cas wastes no time getting his other hand in on the action, too. 

“You have a nice butt,” Cas whispers.

Dean laughs and reaches a hand around to smack Cas’ ass. “Not as nice as yours.” 

They kiss for what seems like forever. All Cas can think about is the fact that he would be content to never stop kissing Dean again and just die right here with lips moving against his.

But then he feels the press of an erection against his thigh and remembers that he doesn’t actually have to die.

Dean’s pants slide off easily, and he leans back against the side of the car in anticipation of what’s to come. Afraid that Dean might wake up any minute, Cas doesn’t waste time with teasing and instead starts by swallowing as much of Dean as he can fit into his mouth.

Dean bucks his hips and drops a shaky hand to Cas’ hair. Cas keeps one hand firmly gripped around Dean’s ass cheek and his other hand around the base of Dean’s cock. 

Now _this_ —this is something he could do forever. Sure, there’s no stirring in his own jeans, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t fucking ecstatic over the reaction _he’s_ causing in the beautiful boy in front of him. Plus, he feels nourished. 

“Can I come in your mouth?” Dean asks quietly after several minutes or days or however long time is in dreams.

Cas gives a thumbs up and squeezes Dean’s shaft as he hollows out his cheeks.

Dean’s come is the best thing he’s ever tasted. And yeah, maybe it’s because he’s starving and this is the first real “food” he’s had in more than a month. 

His life is so fucking weird.

And because it’s a dream, Dean just keeps coming. He’s silent as he rocks his hips into Cas’ mouth. Cas chances a look up and finds his eyes closed and his head tilted back at the sky. He looks incredibly relaxed.

Cas thinks that somewhere, corporeal Dean must be in his bed and in that weird neutral state of turned on that feels amazing during sleep.

So Cas drinks until he’s full—really and truly full. When Dean is finally empty, Cas smacks his lips and drops a hand to his bloated belly.

“Whoa, dude, you weren’t lying,” Dean says as he looks down at Cas.

Cas stands and wraps both arms around Dean’s waist so he can press their bellies together. “I need you, Dean.”

Dean blinks several times and blushes and clears his throat. “I wish I could remember you.” 

After a quick peck on the lips, Cas squeezes Dean’s hips and says, “You will. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

* * *

 

“Whoa, dude, I’ve never seen you this nervous for a date before. You really got the hots for Cas, don’t you?”

“Charlie, I love you, but get the fuck out of my house. He’s going to be here any fucking—”

The doorbell rings.

As Dean pulls it open, Charlie scoots past and runs out. 

“Bye, Charlie!” Dean shouts past Cas.

“Bye, nerd! Use protection!”

Dean feels like the room just got a million degrees hotter as he turns his attention to Cas. “I am so sorry. She—”

“It’s perfectly fine, Dean,” Cas says with a smile and a wave of his hand. “I can’t believe how close we live to one another. It was only a five-minute walk.”

“Really? Yeah, wow, cool. Um, shall we? We’re going to have to drive.”

A hand lands on Dean’s left shoulder, stopping him from racing out to his car. He turns and finds Cas squinting curiously at him. 

“You’re nervous.” Cas moves closer and slides his hand down to his forearm, as if that’s going to make Dean _less_ nervous. “Don’t be. I already enjoy your company, and I don’t expect you to put on a show in order to impress me. I simply want to eat burgers with you.”

Dean stares him up and down, searching for some kind of trick in all this. All he notes is that Cas looks damn fine in khakis and a pink button-down, and he definitely seems like he’s put on some much-needed weight in, like, the past few days. Weird.

When Dean takes too long to respond, Cas just grabs his hand and starts walking toward the car.

How he knows which car is Dean’s is a mystery that Dean’s not sure he wants the answer to, so he doesn’t ask.

Since they’ve already done the whole small talk thing, they jump right into arguing over music during the entire car ride. They’re in such a heated debate by the time they get to the restaurant that people actually turn to see what the fuss is about, and Dean promptly decides he should stop shouting about Pearl Jam.

It’s one of those places where you order at the front, and Cas orders significantly less food than Dean’s seen him eat the two times he’s had lunch with him. Dean thinks it’s because Cas knows Dean is paying—but then Cas asks for a separate check, and that makes Dean wonder if Cas wants to consider this something other than a date.

“Something on your mind, Dean?” Cas asks after they’ve chosen a table. 

“Nothing, just…this is a date, right?”

Cas’ smile is warm and inviting and Dean wants to wrap himself up in it. “Yes, Dean. It’s a date. If you’re wondering why I paid for myself, I always pay for myself. I find dating etiquette archaic." 

“Well, aren’t you progressive. Does that also mean I can’t kiss you on the doorstep before you go home tonight?” 

Cas twirls the straw in his drink and answers casually, “I was hoping not to go home tonight.”

What. What did he just.

“That was very presumptuous of me. I’m sorry, Dean, I—”

“Do I know you?”

“Hmm?” 

“I mean, have we met before? I mean, you seem familiar. But then, like, you…are really comfortable around me.” Dean’s not sure where he’s going with this, but he marches on, “You act like you know me already. Or are you just that confident?”

Cas raises a challenging eyebrow and states, “I am comfortable around you, yes. I’ll let you decide why that is.”

OK seriously, _what?_

Before Dean can press further, Cas changes the subject. They fall into an easy pattern after that, and by the time their food comes Dean is laughing and talking loudly and not paying any attention to anything other than Cas. He forgets all about the weird familiarity.

They don’t kiss on the doorstep. Dean invites Cas in to watch a movie.

Thirty minutes in, Cas is tucked under Dean’s arm.

An hour in, they’re lying on the couch, Cas practically draped over Dean’s chest.

Two hours in, they’re making out.  

“Spend the night,” Dean breathes between kisses. He reaches up and cups Cas’ face in his hands like he’s something precious.

“OK,” Cas replies willingly. Way too willingly.

After several more minutes, Cas states, “Bed.”

They keep kissing as they stumble their way to Dean’s room and plop onto his twin-sized bed. Cas removes his own shirt and then Dean’s, but as soon as Dean starts to unbutton those great khakis, Cas stops him. 

 _“Shit,”_  Cas curses like he’s just stubbed his toe. He sits up on Dean’s lap and rubs his thighs nervously.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s uh,” Cas starts with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I’m, uh, an idiot. And also not interested in having sex with you right now."

Dean stares up at him blankly. It's not the first time someone's put on the brakes in bed, but the abruptness of it is disconcerting. "Is it because you're...you know, sick?"

"What? No! Um. I just—I've never done this before."

"You mean sex? Really?"

"Well, sort of. Yes. I'm nervous."

With a reassuring squeeze to Cas' arm, Dean shifts under him. Cas gets the hint and lies down next to him, his head pillowed on Dean's chest.

"You want to talk about it?" Dean asks.

"Not right now."

"Fair enough."

"I'm sorry."

"Dude, don't be sorry. It's cool. It's not like I'll die if I don't have sex."

Strangely, Cas responds with a surprised laugh. He stops after a second though and says, "Would it still be all right if I slept here?"

"Oh, no. This is a sex-only establishment. No sleeping allowed," Dean teases. 

"Well, in that case," Cas says as he climbs out of the bed.

Logically, Dean knows it's a joke. Still doesn't stop him from gasping and grabbing at Cas' arm like a needy child. Great.

Cas laughs and falls back into bed, nosing at Dean's jaw before getting settled against his side. There's that familiarity again, and it has Dean's heart racing.

"Good night, Dean," Cas whispers.

He begins to snore before Dean can even respond.

 

* * *

 

They are on the highway, a familiar and boring drive back from their college to their hometown. Dean is driving, and a Taylor Swift song is playing on the radio. Sections of the road are empty or blacked out completely where Dean’s subconscious can’t recall the details. Nonetheless, Cas is enthralled by the amount of green signs that actually have words on them. Words usually don’t show up in dreams.

“You really like Arby’s, don’t you?” Cas asks. It’s the first thing either of them has said.

“What?”

“We’ve passed four of them. Well, four exits that have them. Most of the other restaurants are fuzzy or just empty squares on the green signs, but the Arby’s aren’t.” Cas points at one of the signs as reference.

“Yeah, I like Arby’s.”

A few minutes of silence pass, and then Cas says, “We spent the evening together and then fell asleep and are still together. We will wake up in the morning and still be together.”

“Uh, yeah. So?”

“We’re going to get sick of each other’s company.”

Dean laughs and squeezes Cas’ knee. “Sure, Cas. If you say so.”

Out of nowhere, a third passenger appears in the backseat.

“Hey, Dean, who’s this guy?”

“I’m Castiel. You must be Sam,” Cas replies as he turns to face the shaggy-haired teenager.

Sam’s whole face lights up with a smile. “Dean told me about you. I hear you’re—”

“Sam, stop,” Dean cuts in as if he’s embarrassed.

“I was _just_ going to say that I’ve heard Cas is a bio major. I’m considering chemistry.”

“Oh, really? Are you interested in—”

It happens so fast that Cas nearly wakes up out of Dean’s dream.

A plane, tilted on its side, comes crashing down onto the road less than 100 feet in front of them. Dean slams on the brakes, but it’s too late. The cars start to pile up. Things are inexplicably exploding. Smoke is beginning to consume the entire dream atmosphere. Dean slams into the car in front of them, and they have to evacuate the Impala.

Cas should’ve seen this coming. Nobody else is ever in Dean’s dreams. Sam had just shown up out of nowhere.

While he’s busy coughing and trying to shield his eyes from the smoke, Sam climbs over the mess of cars and heads toward the airplane.

“Sam!” Dean yells. “Sam! Get the hell back here! Where the hell you going?”

“There’s _people_ in that plane, Dean! We have to help them!”

Cas moves to follow Sam, but then he realizes that Dean is stuck in the driver’s seat. His leg appears to be caught, and when Cas tries to help him he screams.

“It’s no use! Get my brother!” Dean shouts, pushing Cas forcefully toward the wreckage.

Cas can hardly see a thing, but somehow he manages to catch up to Sam and get in front of him just as the plane explodes into a fiery cloud.

And then it’s not Sam he’s holding onto anymore. It’s Dean, and they’re awake in Dean’s bed.

Dean is sweating and breathing erratically and Cas stupidly shakes him and assures, “Sam is fine! It’s OK, Dean! Sam is fine.”

Dean calms down and stares at Cas as if he thinks he’s still in a dream. He doesn’t say anything before he falls back asleep.

 

* * *

 

Dean remembers. He remembers his dreams.

He remembers Cas.

They eat cereal for breakfast because it’s all Dean has, and luckily they watch cartoons while they eat.

It’s on the tip of Dean’s tongue. _Did I wake up from a nightmare last night?_

Cas is acting like everything is totally normal, so Dean doesn’t build up the courage to ask.

But he swears, he _swears_ Cas said something about Sam last night. How would Cas know about Sam? Even if Dean _did_ wake up last night, how would Cas know what the nightmare was about?

Dean’s not the type to sleep talk, even during nightmares, _so how would Cas just know?_

 

* * *

 

When Dean’s front door shuts behind him, Cas lets out a breath he felt like he was holding for the entire morning. He did it. He made it through a night with Dean and didn’t blow his cover.

Sure, he feels like a lying sack of crap, but it’s better this way. It’s better if Dean remembers on his own. It’s definitely better. Yeah.

He’s not even all the way back to his own apartment before his phone buzzes.

It’s a text from Dean.

_Ignore this if the answer is no, but do the words asexual succubus mean anything to you?_

* * *

  

Dean stares down at his phone and wishes texting was never invented. He counts the seconds it takes for Cas to respond to his completely ridiculous question.

A minute passes.

Then two.

Two and a half.

Three.

Four.

He tries to look away from his phone during the fifth.

He loses count at the sixth.

There’s a knock on his door at the seventh.

He opens it to find Cas breathing heavy like he just went for a run, his eyes wide and crazy and his chest heaving. “You remembered,” he exhales before pushing inside and slamming his body into Dean’s.

Dean makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat but eventually catches on and kisses Cas back. As good as it is to have a corporeal Cas in his arms, he pulls their bodies apart after a few seconds.

“Whoa, Cas, wait,” he says reluctantly as he shuts the door behind them.

Cas looks up at him pleadingly.

“Do you even like me?” It’s nowhere near the first question Dean wanted to ask, but his stupid fucking insecure brain just couldn’t take it.

Cas presses his hands firmly into Dean’s chest and says seriously, “Of course I like you. How could I not—”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick? You’re a-a succubus. Like, a fucking demon thing.”

“No! I’m not—I mean, I’m human. The only thing it affects is how I—how I—how I—”

“How you eat. But it has to be in your sleep.” Dean leans back against the wall, putting more distance between them.

“Technically in _your_ sleep.”

“All right, so-so all the times you’ve kissed me—the blow job—did you actually _like_ any of that, or were you just doing it because you’re starving?”

Cas grows very serious then. He takes a step toward Dean. He places his hand on his left shoulder and says sternly, “I like you, Dean. I  _want_  you. Even if I didn’t also need you. I would still want all of that.”

“You-you need me.” 

“Yes. Considering the only nutrition I get is through sex, and there is nobody else on earth I want to have sex with…yes, I need you.”

“I would be your, um, incubus?”

“Well, yes. But it wouldn’t affect you negatively.”

“What if we, you know, like, broke up?”

Cas smiles and answers, “We haven’t even discussed being in a relationship, and you’re already talking about breaking up?”

Dean rolls his eyes and wraps his hand around Cas’ neck to pull him forward for a kiss. “If this fucks up my sleeping schedule, I’m out.”

“You have chronic insomnia and you’re worried about your sleeping schedule.”

“You’re an asexual succubus, so quit acting like you have room to talk.”

“Speaking of which…” Cas cringes like he already regrets what he’s about to ask. “I’ve been starving to death for the past month. Is there any chance we could—”

“Spend the day sleeping so you can suck my dick to your heart’s content?”

“Please.”

 

* * *

 

“Dean, would you please stop?”

“No.”

Cas sighs and wriggles around as if that’s going to make him feel less self-conscious.

Dean continues his inspection of Cas’ belly, prodding at the soft skin and pulling at his extra fat. “I just can’t believe how much healthier you are now, dude.”

“Yes, well, it helps that I’m not starving.”

Dean presses a kiss to Cas’ stomach and then rests his chin there so they can make eye contact. “I keep you well fed, huh?" 

Cas rolls his eyes and scratches Dean’s hair. “May I go to sleep now?" 

“But I’m not tired.”

“I can sleep independently of you.”

Dean scoots up Cas’ body and captures his lips with his own.

Cas doesn’t hold back the gruff moan that escapes, and he pulls Dean closer to deepen the kiss.

With a laugh, Dean breaks the kiss and says, “You are such a glutton.” He shakes Cas’ chubby hip to emphasize his point.

 _“Your_ fault. I’m going to sleep now.”

Ten minutes later, Cas is joined in his dream by a very handsy Dean.

“I’m not hungry, Dean.”

Dean presses up against his back and wraps his arms around Cas’ waist. Despite what Cas just said, he takes a deep breath and pushes his ass back against Dean’s erection.

Dean laughs and runs his hands along Cas’ empty stomach. He deliberately pats it as he says, “I don’t know, it feels like there’s some room in here.”

“You know, I am still unsure which you enjoy more: sex or making me fat.”

“C’mon, Cas,” he begs with a kiss to the back of Cas’ neck and a tight squeeze of his arms.

It’s been four months. Four months of Dean sleeping soundly every night with Cas almost always in his bed with him. Four months of not killing themselves studying and four months of Cas having a healthy diet.

Well, probably a little bit more than a healthy diet if his new, pudgy body is anything to go by. He’s pretty sure as a succubus, he doesn’t  _really_  have to “feed”  _every_  night, but…

“OK, maybe just a little bit,” Cas admits as he sinks to his knees and pulls Dean’s pants down. 

Yeah, he could do this forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a birthday present for [Michelle.](http://nihilisticallysassy.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm [deancasheadcanons](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and [this is my website.](https://maddmadeshop.com/)
> 
> As usual, thanks to my wonderful beta [Anne.](http://onceandfuturequeer.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Rebloggable link.](http://deancasheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/124925522911/please-turn-on-your-magic-beam)
> 
> I'd say something like "sorry this is so weird, my other stuff is normal!!" but that's not true and I'm going to continue writing weird shit so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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